Straying Into Darkness
by Princep
Summary: Several months before the arrival of Ajay Ghale, Yuma Lau hires American anthropologist Dr. Michael Yorkshire to assist in her archeological research. Little does Yorkshire know that his presence in Kyrat will alter the nation's course of history forever. Rated M for violence, language, drug use, sex, and all the other M rated stuff.
1. Chapter 1

Hello! Thank you for viewing my first Far Cry fanfic! Please note that I own nothing except for my original characters. All else belongs to the proper owners/creators of the Far Cry series. That being said, please enjoy! And be sure to review! :)

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**Chapter 1**

"_January 15, 2014_

_It's been some time since I've kept a journal. But given the current circumstances, I think it's necessary. If someone other than myself is reading this, I'm probably dead or missing (or I simply lost this journal). My name is Michael Yorkshire. I'm an American professor of anthropology from the State of Massachusetts. I've been hired by Lieutenant General Yuma Lau of Kyrat to aid in confidential 'archeological research' within the Himalayas. I'll be honest, I'm more than thankful for the opportunity. Seems as though my fifteen minutes of fame that I garnered last year have paid off._

_About ten months ago, my team and I made a breakthrough while wrapping up fieldwork in central India. Over the course of our studies, we were inevitably led to a Vedic period temple on the ridges of the Nimar Plateau. Our exhumation, originally planned to be short, evolved into a full-blown archeological development with the discovery of a unique Himalayan tome. The tome was written in an unidentified variant of Vedic Sanskrit. Some of the team members, myself included, noted a distinct Kyrati monastic influence on the script. We brought the unearthed finding back to America for further investigation. _

_The text's translation was spotty at best. However, the tome served to prove complex interactions between ancient Kyrati nomads and the Indo-Aryans of the Peninsula. This hinted towards the true origins of the ethnic Kyratian peoples (who had long been thought to owe their roots to indigenous Nepalese tribes). _

_Brief media attention was drawn to our research, and most of our work was published to historians abroad. But I found our discovery too intriguing to halt my progress. Obsession consumed me, and I disbanded my team to avoid their petty distractions. I spent so many days and nights reviewing our analyses of the tome…and I was right to have done so. After countless hours of work, I finally unraveled the text to its fullest. The results were captivating; the tome whispered clues of the fabled Shangri-La – divine paradise of Kyrat's traditional faith. Himalayan theism fascinates me. Its tales are windows to the forgotten principles of long dead civilizations. _

_General Lau, too, appears to share my interests. When my secondary studies were released to the public, I was contacted by representatives of the Kyrati government in secret. Lau made me an offer that only a madman would turn down. In exchange for my assistance and expertise on ancient Kyrati culture, I've been given a substantial down payment. According to the terms of her contract, an additional imbursement will also be wired into a private account upon the completion of my work. It's more than I could have asked for, but I have my suspicions. I go to Kyrat with a cautious mind. Who knows what lies before me? _

_As I write this entry, I hold my mother's rosary tightly in my palm. I pray to God and the Holy Mother Mary for protection in the lands of Kyrat. With the assistance of the Heavenly Host, I will surely return home soon. This-"_

Michael's writing was interrupted by a hand tapping his left shoulder. It was Iman Kandel, an agent of Yuma Lau's operation. "We have entered Kyrati airspace." his deep, Nepalese-accented voice informed the professor. For the time being, Kandel was to serve as Dr. Yorkshire's guide to Kyrat. The two convened at the transfer fight in Beijing, from which they departed for the Kyrat Intl. Airport.

Michael was unsure of his views on Kandel. The man asked many questions, but offered little information of himself in return. He nodded in response to the Iman's gesture, simultaneously closing his journal's leather casing and returning it to his satchel. He wrapped his beaded rosary around his tightly clenched fist as the aircraft rattled in turbulence. Lau had provided a small four-seated propeller plane for Yorkshire's transport. The professor was wise enough not to have expected a private jet, but he never predicted being thrown into this shaky contraption either. The aircraft was somewhat dark inside, lacking windows to allow for his view. It was only by the light of a flickering lantern had he been able to write in his journal.

The professor's semi-inflated ego was evidenced by his attire alone. He wore an elegant black sweater with a matching pair of suit pants – ironed to the highpoint of velvetiness. Over his sweater, Michael had donned a gray double-breasted dress coat. The entire ensemble was neatly wrapped by a beige overcoat of wool and a pair of shining black shoes. Yorkshire's thick black hair, touched by streaks of aging silver, was combed back in a fashionable style to unveil the vibrancy of his striking blue eyes.

"Your cross and beads," Kandel inquired, gesturing towards Yorkshire's rosary. "What does it mean?"

"A Christian relic," Michael responded, running his thumb over the surface of the beads. "Called the 'rosary.'"

"The 'rosary?' Why carry a rosary?"

"It was my mother's." said the professor in monotones. "She was a devout Catholic. The rosary allows for one to organize their prayer; every bead represents a different segment of the verse. They are used almost like-" Again, turbulence rattled the plane. Michael turned back to Iman. "What is our estimated time of arrival?"

"Within the hour, Doctor Yorkshire." Iman Kandel had the appearance of a well-dressed thug. His features were very Southeastern Asian in nature, with almond-shaped eyes and skin the hue of bronze. He had assumed a variety of gruesome facial scars during his years of service under King Min's right-hand woman. It added to his demeanor of mysteriousness, prompting Michael to wonder how the scars had been inflicted. Kandel's uniform was also unique, blending the qualities of both military and civilian wears. Was he an officer of the Royal Army, or an undercover police soldier? Maybe a combination of the two, or something else entirely? His clothing consisted of a black beret bearing King Min's insignia, an officer's garb of distinctive gold and gray, and a black trench coat with several badges of martial honor.

"Excellent." said the professor, simultaneously scanning his eyes over Kandel's appearance. He vowed to dig into his guide's background. Something wasn't right.

The journey was growing unbearably long, and Michael wanted nothing more than to be released from the hampered confines of the tiny aircraft. His gaze shifted to the pilot in the cockpit, whose fingers glided over the plane's controls in an almost musical way. After several moments, he began to doze. His eyelids danced up and down before finally closing into a trance of sleep. Yorkshire's grasp on reality slipped through his fingers toward the dream world. From the darkness, shapes of yellow and orange frolicked into a sentient figure.

It was a woman, and Michael recognized her face. Her long, soft, sweet-smelling hair of auburn gently blew over the professor's cheeks as she grew nearer. Her eyes were patently blue – identical to the shade of Michael's own irises.

She smiled, and it sent a sensation of warmth through his dream-laden body.

"Michael," the woman whispered, stretching out her ethereal hands to touch Yorkshire's cheeks. Her voice was so warm…so comforting…so loving. "Be careful. You are straying into darkness."

Michael touched the hand with the tips of his fingers. "Mother?" he asked.

The airplane suddenly quaked as it made contact with the landing strip. The professor was jolted from his state of rest. The apparitions of his dreams vanished, and he was left wide-eyed in awe of what he had seen. "We've landed?" he asked Iman as the aircraft glided towards its hangar.

"Yes, Doctor Yorkshire!" Iman responded with a grin. A yellowing set of teeth was exposed by the slight parting of his lips. "Welcome to Kyrat!"

The plane slid into the hangar, and Michael listened as its propellers slowed to a halt. Iman allowed him to move towards the exit first. He drew in a long breath of fresh air as the aircraft's door was flown open by the pilot. Grasping the railing at the top of the mobile stairway, the professor stepped out of the plane and squinted at the sudden rush of daylight. As his eyes adjusted, he observed the activity bustling throughout the hangar. Several Kyrati soldiers were already unloading his luggage and equipment from the aircraft as their superiors barked orders from the walkways. Outside, the sun was shining brightly. It was a welcoming escape from the darkness of his flight.

"This is the Kyrat International Airport." informed the profound voice of Kandel from behind Michael. He was hanging from the handle on the airplane's doorframe. "You're the first American to set eyes on this place in some time, Professor."

"I figured." said Yorkshire, silently acknowledging Kyrat's embargos on commercial air travel.

Royal Army personnel were everywhere. From inside the hangar, Michael observed heavily-armed soldiers patrolling the ridges of the runway. In that moment, he was struck with the reality of the Golden Path rebellion. The terrorists' looming presence was evident in the very faces of the Royal Army's troops. Michael suddenly expressed a slight regret in agreeing to Lau's contract. He was now trapped in a dangerous nation, risking his life in the center of a conflict that he was not a part of. But what was the point in thinking on such matters? The professor had passed the point of no return. Plus, his curiosity with the Lieutenant General's unspecified research was too attractive to reject. He had to move forward, else die of remorse for sacrificing such an opportunity to his fears.

He squeezed his mother's rosary as he descended the steps to the floor with Iman. It felt good to finally be on the ground. From the runway, a military jeep thundered into the hangar. A scowling Kyrati captain climbed out of the vehicle from the driver's seat. He was an ugly, broad-nosed, foul faced man whose days in King Min's forces had numbed his gaze into soullessness. The officer's three subordinates climbed out as well, each wielding menacing assault rifles.

"Just on time." commented Iman.

The captain saluted Kandel before turning his attention to Michael. "Doctor Yorkshire," he greeted. His voice was almost too heavily accented to understand. The tone of his words were muffled by a thick rasp. "I am Captain Anirvan Ranabhat, head of your security detail. We are pleased to welcome you to Kyrat."

Michael's brow furrowed. "Security detail? I'm an anthropologist, not a government official."

Captain Ranabhat was unfazed. "Lieutenant General Yuma Lau only wishes to ensure your safety, Doctor Yorskhire." he reassured with confidence. "The terrorists are everywhere. They seep into the folds of society like an infectious pandemic. You must be protected at all costs."

It then occurred to the professor what the true purpose of the "security detail" was; he was being watched by the Royal Army. They were suspicious of the American guest and were keeping tabs on his actions. Michael could feel a sensation of imprisonment, but he responded with curtesy to avoid invoking further mistrust from the soldiers. "Well, I thank you for your faithful service, Captain."

The officer motioned towards the men unburdening Michael's luggage from the plane. They hulled the gear onto the runway with automatic carts. "Your baggage is being loaded onto the helicopter."

"Helicopter?" asked the professor in confusion.

Iman patted Yorkshire on the shoulder, prompting him to slightly recoil. "We've not reached our destination yet, Professor."

At that point, "tired" was the only word which could be used to describe Michael's sentiment. He had spent so much time in the skies over the past few days. It was exhausting. The jetlag of his travels was taking its toll on his wellbeing. But the man displayed yet another a false smile. "I was foolish to have assumed so."

"Come," the grimacing Ranabhat muttered. "We are wasting time. The Lieutenant General expects our arrival at Ratu Gadhi by sundown."

Iman prodded Yorkshire forth in a somewhat forceful, but not aggressive, fashion. They followed the captain and his men out of the hangar and onto the runway. The vibrant Kyrati sun fixed its golden light upon the entourage, counterbalancing the nation's chilled air with the warmth of late afternoon. At the head of the airstrip was a military helicopter guarded by an armed Royal Guard squadron. The professor and Kandel were first to enter the aircraft, closely tailed by Ranabhat and his soldiers. The Royal Guard combatants followed suit, manning the mounted machineguns as the propellers geared into motion. Michael was not given any headgear or safety straps, instead relying on the ceiling handles to maintain his balance.

The helicopter lifted off of the ground. Their altitude increased at a steady pace, allowing for the professor to stare over the landscape in awe. Kyrat was stunning in every aspect. The distant mountains of the Himalayas rolled into steep valleys of thick woodlands. The forests were separated by various rivers and lagoons. The waterways were jeweled with the reflection of the sunlight; it was as if lakes of diamonds flowed beneath the watch of the icy cliffs.

"THIS 'RATU GADHI,'" Michael shouted to Iman over the deafening howls of the propellers. "WHAT IS IT?"

"THE LIEUTENANT GENERAL'S FORTRESS IN THE NORTH!" Kandel called back. "SHE WILL CONVENE WITH US THERE BEFORE DEPARTING TO THE SITE IN THE MOUNTAINS TOMORROW! ARE YOU EXCITED, DOCTOR YORKSHIRE?"

"THAT DEPENDS ON WHAT KIND OF LABOR IS IN STORE FOR ME! WHY THE SECRECY?"

Iman smirked. "YUMA LAU WORKS IN MYSTERIOUS WAYS, PROFESSOR!"

Michael closed his eyes and tightened his grasp on the handle above. With his free hand, he frantically searched his coat pocket for his mother's rosary. His palm found the surface of the crucifix, and he unleashed a sigh of relief. "Mother," he whispered to himself. "God…Protect me on this journey...for I am straying into darkness." His eyes being closed, the professor was unaware that Iman was watching the ritual with a keen interest. But he remained silent, observing with a quiet attentiveness.

For no more than two hours, the helicopter continued its journey eastward. They hovered over the towering foundations of King's Bridge towards the vivacious hills of northern Kyrat. Despite the splendor of the landscape, Michael was stunned by the huge presence of King Min's soldiers across the countryside. Was the Golden Path truly such a threat?

Yuma's fortress was nestled on the ridges of the province's southeast. It was a walled bastion from which the Royal Guard was based, providing housing for the Army's elite. The helicopter progressively descended above the stronghold's courtyard. Yorkshire's ears were popping at the continuous alteration of altitude. He was beginning to have trouble focusing.

Finally, they settled on the ground. The soldiers immediately began to dismount, urging Michael to follow. The dazed anthropologist clumsily leapt to the cobblestone floors of the courtyard. Above them, the sun was setting into shades of ginger and yellow stripes. Michael could scarcely hear.

But he watched without a word as Captain Ranabhat and his men formed an orderly line before the aircraft. The professor turned to find a uniformed woman approaching him with a train of high-ranking guards. Based on the sheer extravagance of her clothing, she was clearly a commanding officer. The woman was of Asian descent, and she was beautiful. The piercing gaze of her regal brown eyes turned Yorkshire's heart to liquidated putty. Her hair, characteristically woven into a complex Chinese knot, was highlighted by a tint of deep pink. She walked with a grace of power, yet moved with an unexplainably provocative sexuality. Adrenaline rushed through the professor's veins, and he desired nothing more than to embrace her soft lips in a kiss.

"Doctor Yorkshire," the woman greeted. Her voice…it was hypnotic. Potent. Sensual. Even through the popping of his ears, Michael could hear the soothing music that was her vocal sound. He was mesmerized, and he internally begged for her to speak again. "Nice to finally meet you. I'm Yuma Lau. You can call me Yuma." She extended her hand.

Yorkshire met her palm with a firm shake. Her touch almost felt electric. "The pleasure is all mine, Yuma." he replied with a genuine grin.

"Glad you got him here in one piece, Kandel." Yuma remarked, winking in Iman's direction.

Kandel, having just gotten off the helicopter behind Michael, answered with a slight bow. "I would never fail you, ma'am." His tone while addressing Yuma was very humble and submissive. The professor found it amusing.

"Come," Yuma beckoned. "We've got lots of things to discuss, Doctor Yorkshire. Let's talk over dinner, yes?"

Michael was elated. "It'd be an honor, miss." He reached into his coat pocket and squeezed his mother's rosary. A wave of tranquility rushed over his body. The journey had officially begun.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Michael's lodgings in Ratu Gadhi were…small, to say the least. It was no more than a ten-by-ten shack with a rickety mattress and rats scurrying through the rotting cavities of the wood floors. His luggage and equipment would be stored in the facility warehouse until they departed for the worksite at dawn. As a result, the professor carried nothing but the clothes on his back and the items in his pockets for the time being. Yuma had shown him to his station in order to let him "settle" before dinner. Michael was more than thankful for the gesture; he hadn't had a moment to himself since Beijing.

Upon entering his cabin, Yorkshire removed his overcoat and tossed it onto the bed. "Nice room." he remarked to himself, sarcastically sneering at the condition of his quarters. "Ritz must've been booked." He sat himself beside his coat on the mattress, feeling the cushion's sharp springs strain against his buttocks. It felt like knives pressing into his flesh, and it shocked him into standing back to his feet. A dictionary full of curse words marched to the tip of his tongue, but Michael kept his lips shut.

As he scanned the shack for items of interest, he saw little but stacked crates and a broken nightstand holding several lit candles. After searching the drawer, he found that they contained nothing of interest – just a crumpled piece of black paper and two dead spiders. The place looked like it hadn't been occupied for years.

"'Welcome to Kyrat.'" he chuckled under his breath. Over the next few moments, his mind began to wander in the isolation of his shadowy living space. The dream of his mother was haunting to the professor. He was a firm spiritualist, believing every dream to hold an otherworldly meaning. "You are straying into darkness." That was what she said. What darkness? It was troubling. He feared the footmen of the Devil – the demons of Hell which endlessly tempted humanity into wickedness. Was Michael to battle the lure of evil in Kyrat? Had he truly entered a plane of darkness?

The thought of it terrified him. The professor scurried through his pocket for his rosary. He knelt upon the floor and rested his elbows on the mattress. The relic was cupped in his palm. "I believe in God, the Father Almighty," he prayed, closing his eyes and making the Sign of the Cross. "Creator of Heaven and Earth, and in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and buried." Yorkshire ran his thumb over Christ's figure on the rosary. "He descended into Hell; on the third day He rose again from the dead; He ascended into Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from there He will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting. Amen."

_KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!_

Yorkshire was startled at the banging on the door. "Yes?" he called with a racing heartbeat, scrambling to his feet.

The hoarse tone of Captain Ranabhat's voice replied, "Dinner, Doctor Yorkshire! The Lieutenant General demands your presence **now**!"

"Yes, of course!" the professor answered, bearing a false quality of kindness. He disliked the Captain dearly. The so-called "head of his security detail" was acting more like a prison warden by the second. Michael felt for his mother's rosary before realizing that he'd left it on the bed. He took it into his hand as he threw his coat back over his shoulders.

The cold air of dusk rushed over his skin as he opened the door. The sun had fully set, allowing the legions of vibrant stars to conquer the sky. The stars were Michael's favorite part of travelling abroad; such a sight was rare in the "urban paradise" of the United States. He stepped outside and took a deep breath of fresh air before turning to address the Captain, who was positioned just beside the doorway.

"Captain." the professor cordially greeted with a nod.

Ranabhat sported his usual scowl and squinted at Yorkshire's salutation. The beastly man was unamused by the presence of an American scholar. He distrusted the West and all that represented it. "Come with me." the officer prodded.

The other three soldiers of Michael's security detail had encircled the shack's entrance, almost as if to stop the professor from running. They pressed him along on the cobblestone pathways of Ratu Gadhi in silence. The night was peaceful and calm. A soft wind glided over the walls, lightly jingling the small garlands of bells that hung from the cabins. An enclosure of messenger pigeons was perched on a nearby ledge; the birds' subtle, purr-like chirps rolled into a soothing melody of hypnotization. As they passed the radio station, Michael could hear muffled voices speaking through the receiver. It was oddly relaxing and put him in a state of mental harmony as the soldiers nudged him onwards.

Ratu Gadhi was heavily garrisoned by the elite Royal Guard – a division which Yuma Lau directed. Based on the decorated uniforms of Ranabhat and his men, they were also Guardsmen. This would certainly explain the Captain's air of conceit and superiority, as he was an officer of King Min's best. He wore his blue beret with a hideous pride that screamed "pretentiousness" for all to hear. Still, he was respected as an official. This was evidenced by the swift and formal greetings of the patrolmen; as the Captain passed, the soldiers stood straight and knocked their boots together with a salute.

Yuma's private residence was situated on the opposite side of the fortress, beyond the courtyard and adjacent to the military warehouse. By the time they reached the entryway, the professor had grown unnerved by the silence of his escort. He felt a wave of relief rush over him when they ascended the steps to the porch. A well-armed soldier opened the door and motioned for Michael to enter.

"Wait, Doctor Yorkshire." Ranabhat growled, forcing his hand onto Yorkshire's shoulder.

The professor turned to face the Captain, whose hostile gaze almost pierced through his soul. "What?"

"Behave yourself…else lose the hospitality of the Royal Army." And his grasp was then released.

Michael nodded without a response. The Captain was provoking him, and he wasn't biting. As the door closed behind him, he made a mental oath never to give Anirvan Ranabhat the satisfaction of victory. Doing so would cause nothing but trouble. And, given the circumstances of the Army's alleged "hospitality," he would hate to imagine what their _inhospitality_ was like.

The inside of Lau's building was well-illuminated by candlelight – so much so that Michael even wondered if it risked a house fire. "Why so many candles?" he asked the soldier guiding him through the manor.

"Because the Lieutenant General wishes it." the man barked back without hesitation.

"Are they for religious purposes?"

The soldier stopped and whirled his head around to face the professor. "They channel positive spirits!" he countered. "Now stop asking questions!"

"Positive spirits," Michael mumbled as they continued about the corridor. "Clearly." Alongside the candles, statuettes and thangkas of ancient deities decorated the lodge's interior. They emitted a certain energy that Yorkshire could feel. Some were positive, others negative. It was as though he was walking through a brawl between angels and demons. The sensation was puzzling.

The manor was a two-story building with additions on each floor. Michael was led to a closed doorway on the second story. Inaudible conversation could be heard from inside the chamber. The soldier slid the door open and signaled for the professor to proceed. The sweet aroma of freshly cooked food flooded through his nostrils. It was Yuma's dining hall. Inside, there was a long table draped with glamorous cuisine. The spread was fantastic, including roasted pig, spiced chicken, an array of local vegetables, and exotic European wines. At the head of the table was Yuma Lau herself, but she was not alone. To her left sat Iman Kandel, now dressed in civilian attire. To her right was a dark-haired American man whom Michael hadn't met before.

"Hello again, Professor Yorkshire." came Yuma's silken voice. Michael was immediately entranced by her velvet pitch, and he entered with a smile.

"Good evening, ma'am."

"This the guy you were talking about?" asked the American at the table. He had a profound manner of speaking that suggested a position of power and influence. Like Yuma, he wore a military uniform. But the regalia looked far less…_flashy_. The man had a head of thick brown hair and sharp features that added to his aura of ascendancy.

Yuma rolled her eyes. "Obviously." She turned back to Michael with a scarcely noticeable grin tugging at her lip. "Professor, this is Paul Harmon, the Royal Army's Chief of Staff."

"The locals call me 'De Pleur.'" Paul added. "Pleased to meet you."

The professor nodded to Harmon. "Likewise, Mister Harmon." He was curious about Harmon's nickname, but didn't give it too much thought.

"Please, Michael," Yuma invited, motioning towards the empty seat at the opposite end of the table. "Sit. Eat, there's plenty."

Yorkshire was pleased to feel treated like a human being, what with the conduct of his "security detail" and the facility's soldiers. He graciously accepted Lau's offer and made his way to the table. He removed his coat and hung it over his chair before sitting. "Thank you."

"Professor, what do you think of Kyrat so far?" inquired Kandel, who had remained quiet up until that point.

"The environment, or the military?" Michael asked bluntly. His comment was met with brief laughter around the table.

"Both." Kandel stated.

"Well," the professor began. He was treading on thin ice. He did not wish to offend his hosts in any way. "To tell you the truth, I haven't been here long enough to give you a straight answer." This was a lie. The Royal Army was an oppressive force – that much he knew just by observing their treatment since his arrival. "But I can say that the landscape is stunning."

Iman shook his head. "You must be wary, Doctor Yorkshire. Beautiful lands often mask their hidden darkness."

Darkness. The word immediately caught Michael's attention. His anxiety over his dream on the plane returned haunt his mind. "What kind of darkness?"

"The kind that'll kill you if you're not careful." De Pleur interjected. "They call themselves the 'Golden Path.'"

"Yes, I've read about them in the news back home. The revolutionaries?"

"Self-proclaimed." Paul retorted, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms. "They're terrorists. Crooks. Jungle monkeys who claim to fight for some righteous cause. I say: Fuck that. They don't want the King's support? Fine. Their choice. They can go to hell."

Yuma suddenly cut into the conversation. "Enough. We've got more important things to discuss."

De Pleur raised his hands in comical submission. "Of course." he muttered cynically, standing from his chair. "I'll leave you three to discuss your work."

"I assume you'll relay Pagan's orders to Noore?" Yuma called to Harman as he reached the door.

"Yeah, I'll fill her in." the man grunted, sliding the door shut behind him.

"What's going on?" the professor asked.

"Army business." Lau replied. She gracefully seized a cluster of rice with her chop sticks. Even the manner in which she ate was elegantly beautiful; her fashion of chewing was soft and tender, complemented by the slight puckering of her lips.

Michael couldn't help but stare in awe. "Of course." he found himself answering without thought. "Forgive me, I didn't mean to impose."

"Forgiven." She mouthed another small bite of rice. "So, Professor…I've been told you carry a rosary."

The professor glanced at Kandel, who stayed silent, and then back towards Yuma. "Yes, I do. It was my mother's."

"You're Christian, then?"

"I'm Roman Catholic, yes." Michael reached for the rosary in his pocket, revealing the relic for Yuma to see. "This rosary has become a part of me…if that makes any sense. It's not just a symbol of my religion; it's a tribute to my family history, passed down over generations."

Yuma suddenly frowned and waved towards the table's spread. "Eat, Doctor Yorkshire." she insisted, trailing from the topic of Yorkshire's faith. "Please. This food was cooked for your arrival."

In his mental veneration of Lau's presence, Michael had completely forgotten about the feast that lay before him. He nodded and gathered a collective plate of nearby vegetables. In an effort to display his cultural fluency, the professor chose to eat with chop sticks instead of fork and knife. In doing so, he quietly hoped to impress the Lieutenant General.

"Can you tell us more of your Christian beliefs, Professor?" Kandel abruptly queried, cutting into his platter of meats as he intently listened for a response.

"I can." Michael replied. "As Christians, we hold faith in Christ's sacrifice for our sins. Jesus of Nazareth, the Holy Son and earthly manifestation of God, was crucified to atone for humanity's natural evils. By accepting His boundless love and selfless affection, we will be saved and destined for Heaven."

"Sounds weak." Yuma commented without an ounce of hesitation. "Love, affection, amity – they're unrealistic abstractions."

Though her words were agitating to Michael's views, he did not react with hostility. In fact, he welcomed the opportunity for debate. Over the years, he'd discussed his theology with a variety of disbelievers. It was always interesting to hear their different perspectives on religion. "I don't see them as abstractions." he stated. "I see them as genuine elements of peace that we must strive for. They're not physically measurable, but their existence can't be doubted. They serve to maintain order and harmony. If we don't consciously pursue them, we'll be doomed to war."

"But not everyone shares your Christian conceptions of 'order' and 'harmony,' Professor." argued Yuma. "I believe war is a blessed tool, not a curse. Each of us have our own notions of what the world should be. War is the means by which we can make those visions come true – the means by which we can crush all those who oppose us. The feeble pray for harmony; the strong fight for it."

"There was a time when Christians shared that philosophy, ma'am." the professor responded. "A time when great papal empires forced their faith upon others. It did nothing but stir troubles, and those troubles remain to this day. Peace cannot be spread by force. It can only be spread by love."

"In a place like Kyrat, Doctor Yorkshire," Iman said to Michael. "Love is a difficult objective to achieve."

The professor was unable to counter Iman's case. Indeed, Christian doctrine seemed a naïve path to follow in a nation such as Kyrat. After all, it is difficult for one to hold faith in compassion when death and destruction engulfs the atmosphere. The Kyrati people were too deeply wounded by conflict to follow such beliefs, and so they turned to their mythical heroes for spiritual comfort.

"And that is exactly why I love this country." Yuma stated, nodding to Kandel's argument. "Here, if you wish for your cause to survive…you must kill. You must thrash out at those who'd suffocate your principles to death. Freedom through blood." She leaned forward with a cunning grin. "It's why I brought you here, Michael. You're going to help our cause survive."

"How?" Yorkshire asked. "And whose cause?" Kandel was right when he said that the Lieutenant General worked in mysterious ways. Michael's thoughts were jumbled. The dinner conversation was leaping from one topic to another at random.

Iman handed a black folder to Yuma, who opened it with care and scanned over its contents. "I was fascinated by your research, Doctor Yorkshire." she said to Michael. "In fact, I read your published study on the Vedic tome three times."

The professor's pompous self was awakened by Lau's compliments, and he mentally rejoiced at her flattery. "It took a great deal of work to decipher." he said with an evident tone of pride. Afterwards, he swore he heard Kandel snort…but he shrugged this off as a delusion.

"Right." Yuma mumbled. She pointed at a particular spot on the page in front of her. The woman's expression was stern and attentive. "Here is your translation of the text: 'The Vestige of Shangri-La…rests in the crypts...the temples lost…in the frozen highlands.'"

"I believe it's referring to an ancient Kyrati artifact." Michael explained. "Perhaps hidden in some forgotten Himalayan ruin. Now, as to the-"

"You believe this artifact exists?" Lau interrupted. Her gaze shifted directly into Yorkshire's eyes. The fires of passion burned strong in her pupils. It was almost terrifying.

"I mean, it's possible." The professor sighed. "But it's unwise to perceive it as fact. The tome could've been narrating a myth. It was written by olden, illogical people. I guess it could exist, sure. But it's not likely, ma'am."

Yuma closed the folder and tossed it to the floor, simultaneously leaning back into her chair with a glower. "Legends tells of an ancient thangka that illustrates the journey of Kalinag." She paused. "It's said that this thangka is an enchanted relic – a gateway to Shangri-La itself!"

"Yeah," Yorkshire snickered. "And the Greeks thought the gods lived on Mount Olympus. They're just superstitions, Yuma."

"Superstitions like your Christ?" she retorted.

Michael gripped his rosary, grinding his teeth together. "Go on."

"The Royal Army has sought this painting for many years." Yuma explained. "It is sacred to the Golden Path. To capture it would destroy their morale and crippled their spirits for good. Until now…we've had no idea where to look. But your discovery in India may have given us the key." She suddenly stood from her chair and began pacing about the dining hall. "Kandel, brief him."

"Our men have located four temple ruins in the surrounding Kyrati mountains." Iman informed the professor.

"Hold on!" Michael interrupted with uneasy sarcasm. "We're going on a wild goose chase for a 'magical' painting? It might not even exist! And the-"

Yuma lunged towards Yorkshire, slamming her fists upon the table and causing his plate to spill onto his lap. "Tomorrow morning, we leave for the largest of the sites!" she thundered. The beautiful, seductive tone of Yuma Lau had transformed into the hiss of a viper. "My soldiers have already begun excavation! You will assist them! Your expertise on the ancient culture is _vital_. If we find nothing, so be it. But goddammit, we will turn every rock, stone, and pebble before giving up! We need that painting! _I_ need that painting!"

Michael had little time to respond before the woman lifted him to his feet by the collar. The food on his lap splattered on the floor as she shoved his coat into his arms. He was in shock of her strength and pure furry. "I-I understand." he stuttered.

"GUARD!" Yuma hollered. The soldier reappeared at the doorway. "Take the professor back to his quarters! We leave at dawn!"

"Right away, Madame!" the soldier replied with a solute. He turned to Michael with a scowl. "Let's go, _Doctor_!" he jabbed.

Lau took the rosary from the table. "And take your Christian toy with you!" she added, thrusting the relic into Yorkshire's hand.

Michael was in utter disbelief. _God_, he prayed as he exited the dining hall. _What have I gotten myself into?_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"_January 16, 2014_

_I didn't sleep last night. Anxiety kept me from resting my eyes. I'm utterly exhausted, and I'd give anything to return home. It was a mistake to come here._

_I've been informed of my assignment: to chase an imaginary fairytale. Yuma believes that there is an enchanted thangka hidden in the Himalayan cliffs; this thangka, she claims, is the 'Vestige of Shangri-La' mentioned in the tome my team recovered in India. The Royal Army insists that they seek the painting for political gain…but I sense an ulterior motive. _

_The striking seductress that is Yuma Lau cannot be trusted. She ridicules those who don't share her beliefs, and she asserts a vicious dominance over all who cross her path. I'm frightened by her presence…but attracted to it all the same. She is an indescribable woman – the likes of which I've never seen before. Every word from her lips carries weight. Every act by her body is an enticing form of art. Though I flinch at her approach, my heart inevitably skips a beat every time I set eyes upon her. _

_These feelings matter little. Despite her substantial pay for my service, I'm Yuma's prisoner. This country is a totalitarian dungeon. Its reclusive king, Pagan Min, overshadows every aspect of Kyrati life. His propaganda littered Yuma's fortress, and it's safe to assume that it litters the rest of the nation as well. I know that if I step out of line, I'll be shot in the back without hesitation. And the man who fires the bullet will likely be the head of my 'security detail,' Captain_ _Anirvan Ranabhat. The Captain is an ugly bastard – a condescending monster who gets off on the power of his station. He and his men are my overseers. I couldn't move a muscle without them knowing about it. I could hear them whispering outside my shack last night. Through the barrier of the walls, I was unable to make out their exact words. But I know they were speaking of me. I could swear that I heard them voice my name._

_This morning, we left for the archeological worksite – a temple ruin called 'Azhar,' nestled in the teeth of the Himalayan crags. It's the largest of four locations uncovered by Yuma's Royal Guard. There, I will assist in the hunt for the ancient artifact. _

_This is pure madness. God give me strength._"

Michael closed his journal and placed it back into his satchel. He tightened his grip on the ceiling handle as the helicopter struck an icy gust of wind. Shaken by turbulence, the professor shut his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer. His rosary was wrapped around his wrist and forearm beneath his right sleeve, the crucifix positioned at the end of his palm.

"PRAYING YET AGAIN, PROFESSOR?" Yuma shouted over the rumble of the propellers. Michael knew that her ski mask concealed a smile.

"GOD IS EVERYWHERE, YUMA!" he retorted. "EVEN IN THE FROZEN HIMALAYAN WASTELANDS!"

The woman chuckled in delight. "INDEED!" she teased. "INDEED HE IS!"

Captain Ranabhat and his men were positioned behind the professor. He could feel their eyes fixated upon him – the undying stare that burned his skin with mistrust. Michael did his best to ignore their presence.

"WE ARE NEARING THE SITE, MADAME!" the pilot called to Yuma over the transceiver.

"GOOD!" Lau replied. She turned to Iman, who stood beside her near the door. "KANDEL!"

"YES, MA'AM?" he answered.

"I WANT THE PROFESSOR'S GEAR UNLOADED IMMEDIATELY UPON LANDING! NOT A SINGLE DELAY! UNDERSTOOD?"

Iman slightly bowed his head. "OF COURSE, LIEUTENANT GENERAL!"

The helicopter maneuvered through the jagged cliffs, surpassing the mountainous flurries along the way. As the aircraft increased its altitude, the ruins of Azhar came into vision. Michael was stunned by its sheer size, and he leaned towards the window for a better view. The temple was situated on a downhill slope. Crumbling village structures radiated from the entrance to the hollowed sanctuary. Amongst these structures, Yuma's men appeared to have dug a labyrinth of trenches from which they traversed the ruins' disintegrating pathways.

"THE RUINS ARE POSITIONED ON UNSTABLE GROUNDS!" Yuma shouted to Michael as they hovered over the remnants of Azhar. "EVERY DAY, WE LOSE FRAGMENTS OF THE WORKSITE TO LANDSLIDES! SOON, THERE WILL NOT BE A TEMPLE LEFT TO EXCAVATE! THIS IS WHY WE MUST WORK QUICKLY!"

The professor nodded, looking back to the ruins below in awe. The helicopter continued through the chasm beyond the site. They approached a secondary encampment of the Royal Guard. "PREPARING FOR LANDING!" the pilot announced as he lowered altitude. Within moments, the aircraft had touched ground. Kandel slid the door open, allowing for the passengers to dismount.

"Please, Michael," said Yuma, waving for Michael to exit first. With a signal of thanks, the professor leapt from the helicopter to the frozen ground. Yorkshire had been granted an arctic Royal Guard uniform to sustain his warmth. He was coated in white camouflage and a fur-lined hood, bearing the markings of the Guard's crimson epaulettes. As with the rest of the men, his face was shielded by a thermal ski mask. To the naked eye, he appeared as one of Yuma's coldhearted soldiers. But Michael conserved his awareness of reality; that no costume could mask the fact that he was just a hired captive.

The spinning propellers kicked up flurries as the rest stepped out of the aircraft. The snow singed what little skin was exposed on the professor's body, chilling him to the very core. He lifted his hand to his face, shielding his eyes from the bouts of icy breezes. Soldiers from the encampment began to unload the helicopter's cargo (which mainly consisted of Michael's equipment).

"The uniform suits you, Professor!" Kandel chuckled as the propellers' winds settled.

Michael looked down at his military attire. "Perhaps it'd be best if we agree to disagree, sir." he reacted with a false tone of humor.

"No," Yuma interjected. "I agree with Kandel. You wear the garb well."

To the professor, the mere sound of Lau's voice was enough to warm him in the arctic wilds. "Thank you, ma'am. You're too kind." Yorkshire's opinions on Lau were perplexing. He had never felt such a mixed sense of hatred and infatuation towards a woman before. As he pondered on these sentiments, he felt a hand antagonistically grasp his shoulder.

It was Captain Ranabhat.

The man said nothing to the professor. Instead, his gesture served as a reminder to his existence – as if to deny Michael the ability to disregard him. Yuma appeared to acknowledge Ranabhat's silent statement. A sensation of glee was set ablaze in her eyes. It seemed as though she took a certain pleasure in Michael's imprisonment.

Kandel, however, scowled at the Captain's belligerence. "Captain," he barked sharply. "Help your men unload the cargo."

Ranabhat squinted at the orders of Yuma's lieutenant. "Of course, _sir_." his hoarse voice countered. With great hesitation, the Captain and his men turned back to the helicopter to assist the Guards in discharging the equipment. The professor thanked Iman with a wary nod, which the man cautiously reciprocated. Lau made no comment, but rapidly shifted her gaze between Michael and Kandel. "Come," she said, moving between the pair. "Let's meet with Major Desai."

The encampment was large and well-organized. The commanding officer's tent was located at the center. Michael followed Yuma and Kandel closely, meticulously observing his surroundings. Amongst the soldiers' tents was a variety of weapon crates and supply heaps. They passed a rusted cage covered by a tarp; inside it was a wounded dog that licked its gashes before baring its fangs at the watchful professor. Yorkshire recoiled slightly and quickened his pace.

"Major Desai heads this camp." Yuma explained to Michael. "He supervises the worksite's patrol and keeps watch for enemies…be they rebels or beasts. You'll see him from time to time throughout your days at Azhar, Doctor Yorkshire."

"And will I be answering directly to this Major Desai?" Michael asked.

Yuma stopped and turned back to the professor. "You'll be answering directly to me."

"Understood." he breathed. "I meant no disrespect."

The three proceeded to Desai's tent. Kandel pulled open the flap to allow Yuma and the professor inside. Michael was relieved by the warmth that rushed over his skin. He took in a deep breath of air as he lifted his mask alongside his companions. The tent was well-lit by oil lamps, allowing Yorkshire to view its contents. Amidst arrangements of small heating units were barrels of fuel and additional ammunition – an unwise setup in the professor's opinion. At the midpoint was a foldable table where a uniformed officer stood overlooking maps. He was a tall, burly man with dark brown skin. His head was fully shaved, and his black facial hair was styled into a pointed goatee.

The officer was extremely focused on his work. He continued to mark the map without noticing the entrance of the trio. It was not until Yuma irritably cleared her throat that he looked up and saluted her arrival. "Lieutenant General!" he greeted with absolute veneration before turning to Iman. "Commissioner Kandel! It is an honor!" Based on his accent, Michael assumed the man to be of Indian descent.

"Professor," said Yuma. "This is Major Sachit Desai."

"How do you do?" Michael said to the Major, extending his hand.

Desai did not reciprocate, but grinned at the professor's gesture. "So, this is the infamous Doctor Yorkshire?"

"It is." Lau stated. "And he'll be key to our success in these godforsaken mountains."

"Let us hope so." the Major nodded. He pointed towards a position on the map outside the edges of the excavation site. "This location almost marked the grave of a patrol squadron last night. A tremor swallowed their pathway whole. One of the men broke four ribs." He looked up at Yuma. "The deeper we drill into the ruins, the weaker the slope's foundations grow. We cannot remain here much longer, Madame. It is too dangerous."

Yuma's brow furrowed. It was as though she was searching for a rational way to reject Desai's warnings. "No. Evacuation will not take place until we know for certain whether or not the Vestige is here."

The Major soundlessly sighed and turned to Michael. "Then we must rely on you, Doctor, to save us from the turmoil of this operation."

Michael was uncomfortable with having such pressure thrust upon his shoulders. He'd labored against deadlines before, but never had the lives of other men depending on the speed of his work. "Y-yes," he stammered in response. "So it would seem."

"Tell me, American," Desai began, folding his arms and intently examining the scholar's reactions. "Do you believe we will find the Vestige?"

In a way, Sachit Desai reminded Michael of an astute cat – perceptive, observant, and watchful of detail. The professor was certain that if he were to lie, the Major would know. Thankfully, he was interrupted before he could answer.

"He's as confident as can be." Yuma told the officer with an unyielding glare. "And he, like myself, is eager to get started."

Even as his commander spoke, the Major hadn't taken his eyes off of Yorkshire. Based on the professor's brief hesitation, he gathered that Yuma's celebrated scholar was not enthusiastic as she'd have him believe. He was correct in this assumption, as Michael had no doubt they were pursuing a fairy tale. Lau's dreams of acquiring the enchanted thangka were torn from the fabrics of fantasy. At the same time, the professor acknowledged Yuma's perception of his own religious beliefs. Added to the fact that he was virtually a prisoner without free will, Michael was unable to voice his opposition to her cause. Nevertheless, Yuma's very presence was a gift to his senses. She was mean, critical, and flourished a vicious condemnation of Western faith…but her beauty and magnetic attraction was uncontested by any other woman he'd ever met.

"Of course." Desai grunted, returning to his work at the table. "My men have prepared snowmobiles for your transportation to the site. They are stationed near the communications shelter."

"Good," Yuma replied. She turned back to Kandel, who had remained at the tent's entrance. "Mister Kandel, fetch the detail and round up the vehicles. We're headed for the ruins."

"Yes, ma'am." Iman said to the Lieutenant General, lifting the tent's flap and vanishing into the outside snows.

Up to that point, Michael had completely forgotten that Kandel was even there. But when he left, the atmosphere suddenly felt less safe. The vicinity's energy was shifted in favor of negativity. Perhaps Iman was to be trusted for the time being, as he seemed to be the professor's closest semblance to a genuine ally – regardless of his suspicious mannerisms.

"Well, Major," Yuma began, pulling her ski mask back over her face. "Stay alert. If security flunks, it'll be your skull on the pike."

Desai mordantly chuckled and saluted his commander. "Noted, Lieutenant General."

Michael did not exchange goodbyes with the Major, but could sense the man's eyes watching him as he left the tent behind Yuma. The frozen chill of the Himalayan cliffs shocked the skin on the professor's cheeks as he slipped under the flap. He speedily replaced his mask and drew the fur-lined hood back over his head. The snowstorm was picking up, and it was becoming harder to see. Squadrons of soldiers hastened through the encampment, barking orders at one another through use of a complex Hindi-Mandarin dialect. They threw tarps over equipment stocks and triggered generators into operation.

"Keep up, Michael!" Yuma called to the professor from ahead.

Without a word, Michael quickened his pace to catch up with Lau. He tightened his right fist where his rosary was concealed beneath the palm of his glove. "Major Desai seems doubtful." he commented.

"Major Desai doesn't call the shots." she retorted with an inattentive tone as she pushed her way through a pair of soldiers. "We have to reach the site before this storm worsens!"

The rumble of several motors abruptly thundered over the winds. Five snowmobiles pierced through the bleak flurries, slowing to a stop before Yuma and the professor. The riders were revealed to be Kandel, Captain Ranabhat, and the soldiers of the security detail.

"About time!" Yuma shouted through the whistling gales. "Kandel! You ride with the Captain!"

Iman paused as if he hadn't expected such a request. But he ceded regardless. "As you wish, Madame!" he responded, dismounting his snowmobile and boarding the seat behind Ranabhat's vehicle. Michael could mentally visualize the Captain's irritable response.

Yuma climbed onto the empty snowmobile. "Come along, Professor!" she beckoned. Her eyes were gazing directly into his – straight through the bursts of the winter storm. Their stare struck his soul like an arrow. It aroused his mixed sentiment of hate and lust, and he quickly became engrossed. "You're with me!"

Yorkshire voiced no objection. He mounted Yuma's seat and positioned himself to hold her torso. He suddenly found the woman pressing her rear against his groin with an intentional abrasiveness. It was a form of erotic torture; she was toying with the professor, and he knew it. But he could not bring himself to stop her trifles. In fact, he derived pleasure from them. As if to counter her sensual torment, he subtly lowered his hands to her hips and squeezed, pulling her even closer. She glanced back at him with a petulant scowl, and Michael grinned with a sense of short-lived triumph. Only seconds had passed, but he wished their flirtation to be unending.

"Let's go!" Yuma unexpectedly snarled. She prodded the accelerator, swiftly propelling the snowmobile forward. The startling jolt of motion shocked Michael back into rationality, and he wrapped his arms around the Lieutenant General in a state of panic. Hearing Yuma's laughter over the roar of the engines, the professor pressed his eyes shut and gripped the rosary within his glove.

Kandel and the security detail followed close behind them. The convoy's speed was increasing quickly. When Michael opened his eyes, it took several seconds of visual adjustment to accommodate their drive amid the flurries. The snowmobiles rushed through the gates of the encampment's perimeter fences. As they drove, the winds crashed against their masks like currents of arctic waves.

The rough pathway leading to the site entailed sharp turns and maneuvering through the rocky obstructions. Michael sustained his grip on Yuma's torso as the snowmobiles hurdled over the barricades of stone. The convoy tore into a natural cavern. The thunder of the engines echoed off the walls until they burst into an airborne jump at the grotto's exit. Yorkshire's nerves were rattled, and his anxieties worsened as they dipped into a snow-covered track at the rim of a cliff. Yuma drove severely close to the edge, provoking a sense of overpowering fear in the professor's mind. Again, he closed his eyes and tightened his clutch. Lau chuckled at her passenger's terror.

Finally, the vehicles began to slow their pace. Michael opened his eyes when they'd reached a complete break. "Not one for adventure, Michael?" Yuma joked as the engines calmed.

"Not one for _suicide_!" the professor countered as he dismounted the seat.

"I've seen children with stronger stomachs!" Captain Ranabhat snapped over the winds. "Perhaps you would-"

"We just beat the storm!" Kandel commented. He received a hard-hearted glance from the Captain, whom he'd now faintly reprimanded twice in one afternoon. But Iman spoke the truth – they had reached the site just on time. The winds had grown so severe that it was becoming difficult to stand. Their senses of both hearing and sight were weakened by the whistling might of the blizzard.

A voice suddenly echoed over the gales. "Lieutenant General!" The sound was dim, yet carried a distinct tenor of depth. "Lieutenant General!"

The snowmobiles were positioned at the bottommost of a slant on the cliff's ridge. The incline was draped with a case of stone stairs, likely carved out a millennia ago. Fragmented and half-obscured in snow, the steps led upward towards a set of ruined structures. Though the flurries, Michael observed three silhouettes descending the treads towards them.

"Atal!" Yuma called back. "Beautiful day, isn't it?"

As the silhouettes grew closer, their features came into vision. They were soldiers. The leader, a broad-shouldered officer, had the facial qualities of a hard-edged thug. Even in the blistering colds of the storm, he did not wear a mask to protect his skin. The frost burned at his pronounced cheeks. Trudging through the snow, he observe Yuma's entourage through squinted eyes as the ice's vivid reflection assaulted his pupils. "Indeed!" he replied to Lau. "Welcome to back to Azhar!"

"Michael," Yuma hollered to the professor through the squall. "I'd like you to meet Lieutenant Resham Atal! He's the head of this site's archeological task force!"

Before the professor opened his mouth to reply, the Lieutenant was already shaking his hand. "It is a true pleasure, Doctor!" Atal hailed warmly. "I have heard many good things!"

Stunned by the officer's courtesy, Michael reciprocated kindness. "Good to meet you, Lieutenant!"

Atal turned to the rest of the group. "Come! My men and I will guide you to the site! We should find shelter before the wind throws us over the cliffs!"

The troupe proceeded forth up the ridge's steps. The stone grounds of the slope were crude and uneven, rendering their walk difficult. Michael gripped his satchel with both arms to keep it from blowing off the straps. The cold was seeping into his very bone marrow. Beneath his coat, his limbs violently shook. His fingers, numbed by the bitter frosts on his gloves, could no longer feel the sensation of the rosary in his palm.

They continued onward; climbing the stairs, resisting the winds, enduring the cold. At the top of the incline was several ruined structures, perhaps having served as an ancient commune. A small garrison of troops stood guard there, but they were forced to take cover from the storm beneath arctic canopies on the crumbling walls. The village's cobblestone trail led to a broken archway. Two soldiers had fortified themselves at the route's wooden gates, and they pushed the doors open for the group to pass. Beyond the arch was a thin chasm that was spanned by a wooden bridge.

Michael was uneasy about crossing the bridge. It was well-secured, but shrouded in ice and snow. The planks were slippery, and the group was forced to grasp the ropes for stability. The wind swayed their bodies back and forth. Michael could feel the bridge's totter; he was overjoyed when they finally reached the other side. There, a secondary cluster of ruined buildings awaited them. They were comparably more fortified by Atal's men.

"The main site is past these doors!" the Lieutenant announced as they approached the remnants of a gated wall. The doors, permanently frozen into an open position, welcomed the group to the focal ruins of Azhar. A disintegrating settlement of a long-dead era was sprawled out before them. The structures were escorted by a web of entrenched passages, likely dug out by Yuma's soldiers. At the far end of the ancient hamlet was a temple embedded in the mountainside itself. Its imposing entrance beckoned Michael forward. It was as though a mystical force was whispering to him – calling the presence of his body and soul. Even through the hazy white bouts of the storm, the professor was astonished by the sight he beheld.

Azhar would come to mold his destiny. As he whispered a prayer to God, Michael wondered what treasures would possibly be found in the temple ruins. He could never guess what hardships awaited him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

"_January 17, 2014_

_Yesterday, we arrived at the ruins of Azhar amidst a violent blizzard. We had to take shelter from the storm throughout the night. Much to my displeasure, I've been quartered alone with Captain Ranabhat and his men. They watch me as I sleep and haunt me as I wake. It's unchristian to harbor animosity towards another, but I despise them in every way. Their wrathful gaze kept me from sleep, thus marking my second night without rest. This drowsiness is wearing me down faster than I could've imagined._

_But Azhar is a marvel! I've never seen ruins such as these! While I've yet to venture into the temple itself, I'm awestruck by the exterior layout. The monastery is embedded within the mountain. From its entrance, an ancient settlement radiates into the ridges of the cliffs. Given the age of these structures, it's a wonder they've maintained their current condition! I sincerely doubt that we'll find Yuma's magical painting…but that isn't to say we won't find some other treasures inside! This place is overburdened with history. Suddenly, I find myself regretting my sentiments of shame for coming here. Accepting Yuma's offer was the best decision I've made yet – regardless of her dimwitted soldiers' conduct!_

_Alas, several figures may impede my progress. In addition to the Captain, there are others here who seem to scorn my presence. The site is safeguarded by one Major Sachit Desai, a cynical militarist whose men patrol the outer folds of the ruins. Though not as aggressive as Ranabhat, the Major emits a sense of distrust in my credibility. He eyes me with skepticism and suspicion. I anticipate him becoming a future obstacle._

_However, I believe that I've found an ironic ally in these hostile mountains. Iman Kandel, Yuma's trusted favorite, seems to show some type of faith in me. Is he merely curious? Is it Yuma's 'good-cop, bad-cop' strategy? I'm not sure. I still hold uncertainties._

_As for Yuma herself…I'm mystified. Our dynamic is growing stranger. She teases me with flirts and then heckles me with ridicule. As odd as it may sound, I find my infatuation with the Lieutenant General on the rise. But at the same time, I loathe her very being! What kind of emotions are these? Am I going mad?_

_I guess I'll find out soon enough. For now, I'll try to focus on the work ahead. The Royal Army's archeological team at Azhar is headed by a Lieutenant Resham Atal. From what few encounters I've had with him, Atal gives an impression of kindness and humanity – an extreme divergence from the rest of Yuma's underlings. Hopefully, his warmness is genuine. Again, only time will tell._

_It's morning now, and the storm has settled. I suspect my work will begin shortly. Captain Ranabhat scoffs as I write this entry. God, give me the strength to bear this man's existence._"

Binding his journal's leather skin, Michael slipped the book back into his satchel. The professor sat upon his narrow mattress at the corner of his lodging. His living space had been set up in a small building of stone amongst the ruins. Like the rest of Azhar's remnants, the hovel was crumbling under the weight of time. Gaps and cracks in the structure's walls and ceiling were covered by wooden planks and tarps. The interior was kept relatively warm by heat lamps, but the site's electric power was limited by the capacity of the Royal Army's generators. Thus, the lamps could only be activated at certain points throughout the day.

Candlelight kept his station brightened. Michael had a single torch flickering beside his bed. It allowed him to write within the darkness of the room. The professor shared his residence with his security detail – Captain Ranabhat and his three subordinates. Each had their own mattress sprawled on the floor, rendering the chamber crammed and uncomfortable.

Across the room, Ranabhat sharpened his combat knife with a belt. He slowly ran the blade over the course surface of the leather, glaring through the light of the candles. "How adorable of you to keep a diary, Professor." he sneered. His hoarse voice dug under Michael's skin.

"I'm certain you'd keep one too if you were smart enough to write." the professor retorted. His hatred for his so-called guardsman was becoming more and more evident by the minute.

The Captain flashed a scowl, bothered by his soldiers' discreet chuckling at Michael's words. "I noticed you did not sleep last night."

"Indeed," came Yorkshire's response. "I did not. You're very observant, you know?"

Ranabhat's blade softly rang from the friction of the belt. "I am trained to watch those I find…doubtful."

The professor mockingly smiled. "Yeah, well, you're one hell of a watcher. Pictures would last longer, though. Maybe when this is all over, we can do a photoshoot. I could pose nude if you'd like – get a nice sexy calendar for you to hang over your bed."

The men snorted once again, prompting the Captain to shout, "Enough!" He turned back to Michael as silence reclaimed the chamber. "I would not be so quick to mock your protector, Doctor. After all, I am all that stands between you and a worm-infested grave."

In a way, the Captain spoke the truth. Michael knew it was dangerous to push the man too far. One wrong step, and chaos could ensue. Thus, in the interest of keeping his brains in one piece, the professor chose not to reply. It was petty to bicker so childishly anyway. He continued about his business, closing his satchel and fastening its buckle. The sack contained his everyday necessities for travelling abroad: his journal, his wallet, his passport, his notepad and pen, and various documents regarding the excavation. Yorkshire's more "work-based" equipment was stored in his backpack. Such gear included trowels, rock picks, chaining pins, whisk brushes, rope, hooks, scoops, and a high-grade camera. It was a heavy load to carry, but completely necessary all the same. Michael took a moment to survey his equipment and ensure that none of it had been damaged during the journey. With his airplane and helicopter flights in mind, it was a wonder he found little harm done to the tools. He could only hope that his electronic paraphernalia was in as good of shape. After reaching the site, Yuma had the professor's computers and vibration detectors moved into the monastery. For all he knew, they could've been shattered to pieces throughout the trip to Kyrat.

As he zipped his backpack shut, a knock was heard at the doorway. Ranabhat and his men immediately stood to their feet. The Captain swung the wooden door open, allowing the blinding light of the sun to flood the chamber. Michael squinted and covered his eyes with his palm. As his pupils adjusted, he witnessed the entrance of Lieutenant Atal. The Lieutenant saluted Ranabhat and the detail, all of whom reciprocated the motion.

The cold mountain winds that followed Atal into the building caused Michael to gasp. His lodgings were not the warmest. But compared to the arctic wasteland outside, they were a tropical paradise. He hurriedly buttoned his sweater as he stood to greet the Lieutenant. "Good morning, Lieutenant Atal."

Resham turned to the professor. "To you as well, Doctor Yorkshire." he replied. His tone was well-mannered and welcoming. "You've been summoned to the central ruins by Commissioner Kandel. Gather your gear. I will take you there."

"I was hoping to get some fresh air." Ranabhat commented with a malicious grin, reaching for his coat and assault rifle.

"That will not be necessary." Atal informed the Captain, dismissing him with a wave. "The professor will be under our watch today. Commissioner Kandel has ordered you to stand guard here until further notice."

Michael shot a smirk in Ranabhat's direction. "What a shame, eh Captain?" he taunted.

The Captain did not justify Yorkshire's gibe with a response. He merely graced the Lieutenant with a brief bow and returned the rifle to its place beside his mattress. His men retreated back to their seats as the professor put on his coat and gloves.

"I have heard of your exploits in Nimar, Doctor Yorkshire." the Lieutenant said to Michael with visible enthusiasm.

The professor, slipping his ski mask over his face, looked at Atal with a cocked eyebrow. "Really? Did you read my books?"

"Only those regarding the Vestige." he stated. "You seem to have a knack for decrypting puzzles."

Michael threw on his satchel and heaved his backpack over his shoulders. He grunted at the sudden encumbrance. "Well," he mumbled. "Hopefully we can put those skills to use."

"Yes," Atal laughed. "Let us hope we can." He patted the professor on the arm. "Come! Follow me!"

Before leaving the building, Yorkshire turned back to his mattress and snatched his mother's rosary. He carefully wrapped it into his glove whilst heading through the doorway behind the Lieutenant. As he left, he closed the door with a spiteful smile aimed towards Ranabhat's vicinity.

The outside atmosphere had changed since he'd last seen it engulfed in storm. The sun now shined brightly, reflecting off the white surface of the snow and ice. It was a striking sight, but one that also hurt his eyes. In contrast, Atal's bare face seemed unfazed; he was accustomed to this habitat – regardless of the damage it was inflecting on his vision. The pair leapt into the adjacent trench. With the bulk of Michael's backpack weighing on his shoulders, the landing was somewhat painful.

Inside the trenches, dozens of soldiers shoveled the dunes of ice and snow that had accumulated during the blizzard. "These dugouts provide a semi-sheltered means of passing through the ruins." the Lieutenant explained to Michael as they pushed past the troops in the channel. "Plus, we are able to excavate buried artifacts in the process of digging them."

"Have you found any?" Yorkshire asked, his boots crunching through the uneven gravels of snow as they walked.

"Some," he responded. "But mostly ancient tools and household supplies – nothing of interest to our true target."

"Right…the Vestige." The professor couldn't help but roll his eyes. Yuma's men appeared willing to disregard priceless relics of history in pursuit of their fairylike thangka. It was ignorant and foolish.

As they delved deeper into the carcass of the olden village, Michael observed several snipers positioned on the rooftops. They were aiming through their scopes directly into the skies. "What are the sharpshooters looking at?"

The Lieutenant stopped and gestured towards the clouds at the cusp of the sun. "Eagles." he answered. "See? If you squint, you may just be able to make out their wingspan."

Yorkshire did so, and he was somewhat able to distinguish the silhouettes two birds above. "Yeah, I see them. Why would we want to kill them?"

"You must be wary of eagles in the Kyrati highlands, Professor." Atal informed Michael, pressing on through the trenches. "They are obnoxious creatures that will rip out your throat if given the chance."

The professor was then startled by the thundering crack of a rifle. The lifeless corpse of an eagle fell to the earth, its crimson blood splattering over the snow. One of the snipers lifted his arms in celebration. "Got one!" he snickered.

"You stole my kill, you fuck!" hollered another marksman. "Next one is mine!"

"HA! Ten rupees says you miss!"

Michael and Resham climbed a case of steps leading out of the trenches. Maneuvering through the disintegrating remnants of a wall, they crossed a wooden plank bridging over the settlement's gutter. Before them was an open stairway leading to the temple's entrance on the mountainside. The doors were overshadowed by a stone canopy and carvings of long-dead gods. The three conversing soldiers guarding the passage stepped aside for the Lieutenant and the professor to enter. Each saluted Atal as he walked by.

The officer pushed the doors open, allowing Michael to step in first. The stone corridor was surprisingly well-lit by torches. As the doors creaked shut, Atal took the lead once more. "Welcome to the heart of Azhar, Professor."

Yorkshire removed his left glove and ran his bare fingers over the texture of the cavern walls. He wondered how many ancient hands had touched this very stone – how many disremembered lives had breathed this very air. It was a heavy thought to process. How long ago had these halls been carved out of the mountain? How many souls were lost to the construction? What were their names? Did they have spouses, brothers, sisters, or children? So many eras passed, and their vast work remained; but they did not. All of them now vanished. All of them now gone.

_God_, the professor prayed in thought, _I'm in awe of what I see. Blessed Mother Mary, watch over the spirits of these ancient peoples…even if they didn't know the way of Christ in death_.

The corridor led them into the temple's nucleus. The expansive walls of the central chamber were ornamented by folkloric engravings. Fire bowls lit the cavern's bottommost levels, which were dotted with small shrines devoted to various deities. A large bell was situated at the epicenter, set upon a platform. It was a miraculous spectacle that took Michael's breath away.

Soldiers were excavating the cavity with shovels and picks. Some quietly chatted as they hulled loads of dirt and stone aside. "Commissioner Kandel!" Atal called from the chamber's entrance.

Iman, uniformed in his arctic garb, was studying the bell below. He turned to face the Lieutenant, who respectfully saluted him. "Did you fetch the professor, Lieutenant?"

Michael stepped forward into Kandel's vision. "He did!" he replied on behalf of Atal. "These ruins are stunning!"

Kandel chuckled. "Indeed, they are." He beckoned the professor forth. "Come, Doctor Yorkshire! You should see this!"

"I will leave you to it, then." Atal said, patting Michael on the shoulder as he turned to exit. "I must help my men clear the trenches."

The professor gave Atal a parting nod before moving down the rocky pathway to the bell. Closer observation revealed the wires and cables that lined the cavern floors. They were attached to numerous generators, each tactically placed around the chamber. In addition to the torches and fire bowls, the worksite was illuminated by several light fixtures. The heat emitted by the flames and electric power allowed Michael to comfortably remove his mask and gloves. He placed his mother's rosary safely in his pocket before shaking Kandel's hand.

"I had a feeling you would be fascinated by this place." Iman commented. "It is an earthly wonder, yes?"

Michael concurred. "An earthly wonder." He gazed at the rugged surface of the gilded bell. It reflected the light of the flames, surrounding itself with an aura of blazing luminosity. The professor gently rested his hand on the bell's metal craftsmanship. "Beautiful. Absolutely beautiful."

"Observe." Kandel noted, drawing Michael's attention to the lower ridges of the ancient artifact. A variety of mythological icons had been carved into the metal. "The markings on the bell may hold clues relating to the Vestige."

The professor knelt down and set his backpack on the platform. He slowly ran his index finger over the bell's age-old designs. "It'll need to be polished for me to decipher the images," he concluded, detecting a buildup of dust and weathering on the surface. "But I'll have to be careful not to damage the surface."

Kandel knelt beside him. "Is it possible to use cleaning chemicals of some sort?"

"Nah," Michael answered. "Too risky. Even a weak solvent could cause corrosion of the metal, especially given its age. I don't want to impair the depictions." He clicked his tongue against his teeth in thought. "It'll take some time, but I can manage it."

Kandel stood. "Very well." He took Yorkshire's arm, pulling the man to his feet in a calm yet assertive manner. "But first, I will show you to your workspace. Get your bag."

Michael, slightly irritated by the forceful gesture, nonetheless followed Iman to the chamber's upper ledge. There, before a lesser shrine of Kyra, a folding table and chair had been set up for the professor's use. Beside them was another light fixture and a small stack of crates that contained his electronic equipment. Yorkshire pried each individual crate open with a crowbar and inspected their contents.

"Get to work immediately after setting yourself up." Iman said. "Yuma expects nothing but our best efforts. We must dissect these ruins and every clue we find within them. Should you need me, I will be assisting the excavators in the village ruins." As he turned to leave, he stopped and reached for his belt. "Oh, I almost forgot." He tossed Michael a large walkie-talkie. "Keep that on hand at all times. Communication is important."

The professor nodded as Kandel climbed down the ledge. He didn't mind following the Commissioner's orders. Iman Kandel seemed at least somewhat good-intentioned. Even if it was simply a "good cop, bad cop" scheme, Michael appreciated the civility regardless.

He connected his electronic hardware to the cords of the generator. Aside from a thin crack on the screen of one of his monitors, each device remained in decent shape. The professor wired his tremor meter and set up his two processors on the table. They were functional upon activation, and Michael let out a sigh of relief as he sat down in his chair. He reached into his pocket and pulled out his mother's rosary. Wrapping the relic around his hand, he place his elbows upon his knees and began to pray.

"I believe in God, the Father Almighty, Creator of Heaven and Earth," he whispered in holy meditation. "And in Jesus Christ, His only Son, our Lord, who was conceived by the Holy Spirit, born of the Virgin Mary, suffered under Pontius Pilate, was crucified, died and buried." Michael softly kissed the rosary's crucifix. "He descended into Hell; on the third say He rose again from the dead; he ascended in Heaven, and is seated at the right hand of God the Father Almighty; from there He will come to judge the living and the dead. I believe in the Holy Spirit, the Holy Catholic Church, the communion of saints, the forgiveness of sins, the resurrection of the body, and life everlasting."

He gripped the rosary ever so tightly, pulling it closer to his chest and gazing at the cavern's cold stone ceiling – the barrier separating him from the clouds above. "Hail Mary," he mouthed. "Full of grace, the Lord is with thee; blessed art thou among women, and blessed is the fruit of thy womb, Jesus. Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for us sinners, now and at the hour of our death. Amen." Michael closed his eyes, making the Sign of the Cross as he murmured, "Father, Son, Holy Spirit."

Michael felt rejuvenated after prayer. To make contact with the Heavens was to refresh the soul and cleanse it of impurities. He placed the rosary back into his pocket. After ensuring the operation of his electronics, he descended to the chamber's lower levels with his satchel and backpack. He set up base at the bell's platform, utilizing brushes and rags to polish the metal's surface. The professor was as meticulous as he was intelligent. Every stroke of the brush was carried out with maximum caution. Within hours, his mind became engulfed by the task. Brush, scrub, brush, scrub. He was scrupulous and observant. Every marking was a piece of history. Were they clues towards the so-called "Vestige?" Unlikely. Nevertheless, they were insightful as to ancient Kyrati culture.

As Yorkshire worked, the other soldiers generally ignored him and continued about their own labors. They shoveled, picked, and hammered with the strength of horses. But they didn't do so without complaints. The professor could overhear their grumbles as he studied the bell.

"This cold is starting to get to me."

"Why won't my ears stop popping?"

"What the hell are we looking for, anyway?"

"Fucking caves! There are rats everywhere!"

"Why can't Yuma increase our food rations?"

Michael set his tools down to get a closer look at the metalwork. The images on the bell were slowly beginning to come clear. The figures, engaged in the ritualistic sacrifice of animals, did not appear male. In fact, they gave the impression of profound femininity. He pulled his notebook and pen from his satchel.

"_Report #1:_

_The troops discovered a large bell in the cavern's main chamber. Its markings are not of the god Banashur, but instead depict several womanly deities. Could one of these figures be Kyra, daughter of the mythological God King? I'll have to study the carvings' details before I can definitively answer that question._"

Prior to King Min's takeover of Kyrat, bells were used to coordinate separate times of prayer to Banashur. Kyra's teachings held that prayer was a conduit for karma; it was a channel through which the Gods transferred their divine energies…be they positive or negative. The ringing of the bells signified the commencement worship for a designated amount of time, usually varying based on the hour of day. Of course, it all ended when Pagan converted the bell towers to radio transmitters in the late 1990's.

But this specific bell differed in that did not signal Banashur. If it hadn't been meant to regulate periods of prayer, what could its purpose have been? Michael took out his camera and snapped several photos of the artifact's surface.

The voice of Lieutenant Atal suddenly came through the walkie-talkie. "Doctor Yorkshire?"

"Speaking." Michael radioed back. "What's up?"

"Lieutenant General Lau requests your presence in her quarters. Captain Ranabhat and his men will lead you there. Meet them at the temple entrance."

The professor rolled his eyes. He was knee-deep in study and wanted nothing other than to stay. Plus, the thought of having any form of daytime contact with Ranabhat was repulsive. It was bad enough that he had to live with the bastard. "Can it wait? I'm in the middle of my work on the bell."

"Yuma does not wait, Professor." the Lieutenant responded bluntly. "The bell is not going anywhere. Head to the temple entrance straight away. Atal out."

Frustration was creeping into his mind, but Michael did his best to fight such feelings. Negativity would do him no good in this place. He packed away his gear, leaving his backpack on the bell's platform before heading for the temple's main doors. As he moved through the stone corridors, he slipped his mask and gloves back on to resist the cold winds outside.

Upon reaching the entrance, the professor pushed the doors open. A brief flurry of snow wafted over his mask. Captain Ranabhat and the security detail awaited him, as promised by Atal. "The scholar emerges!" Ranabhat pestered. The other soldiers tittered at their commander's remark.

Michael wanted to punch the Captain in the nose. Was he being torn away from his work just to be mocked by Yuma's dogs? "You're to lead me to Yuma, then?" he asked, repelling the urge to counter Ranabhat's teasing.

"We are." the Captain muttered, shoving Yorkshire towards the steps. "Let's go."

Yuma's tent wasn't located far from the temple. It was a military-grade shelter designed to insulate heat for maximum comfort. Four guards were stationed outside. They nodded towards Michael, allowing him to pass through the tent's entrance alone.

The interior was warmer than the professor had expected, but he wasn't complaining. Its floors were composed of solid wood, which had then been covered by Oriental blankets and pillows. In spite of the site's limited access to electricity, the tent's heat lamps were operating on full blast. Apparently, Yuma was not subjected to the hardships of her soldiers. Her quarters felt like a hotel suite.

As the tent's flaps closed behind him, Michael removed his mask and gloves. The bright light of Yuma's candles allowed the professor to see. Amidst the extravagant blankets and pillows was the Lieutenant General herself. Her back was turned to the tent's entrance, and she had assumed a position of tranquil meditation on the floor.

"Hello, Michael." Yuma greeted without shifting her gaze.

The professor clasped his hands together. "Ma'am," he responded. "You asked for me?"

She slowly stood, turning to face Yorkshire with a grin. "I did." Her feet were bare, and the buttons of her military jacket had been completely unfastened. Her petite breasts were exposed for Michael to see. His eyes ran over their soft, round shape in pure admiration. The professor felt an explosion of arousal as Yuma gently ran her fingertips through her narrow valley of cleavage. Her hands glided over the skin of her well-toned abdomen, ending at the buckle of her belt.

"U-Um," Michael stuttered, involuntarily stepping forward.

"Doctor Yorkshire," the Lieutenant General began, hypnotizing Michael with the pleasantness of her voice. "What do you know of kungfu?"

The professor was a bit taken aback by the question. "I…Not much, I guess." he answered, distracted by the sight of Yuma's half-naked torso.

"Yīng zhǎo pài," Lau said, gracefully lifting her arms into the posture of an eagle. "The 'Eagle Claw' – an emulation of the sky's greatest predator."

Oh, Michael wanted nothing more than to wrap himself around the woman. She was so…so…gorgeous. "Okay, the 'Eagle Claw.' Why-"

"I would like you to attack me." Yuma interrupted, assuming a defensive pose.

The professor cocked an eyebrow. "What?" he nervously chuckled.

"Attack me," she repeated. "Or I will kill you."

Michael stepped back towards the tent's exit. "Look, I don't-" In the blink of an eye, Yuma produced a throwing knife from the inside of her jacket. She tossed the blade so quickly that the professor did not have time to react. It penetrated the floor directly between his feet.

"Attack me."

The professor frowned. His desire for Yuma's sex had been replaced by anger. "Okay," he growled, removing his coat and tossing it to the ground. "I'll attack you." He raised his fists, preparing to swing at his challenger.

But his offensive was easily dodged.

Crouching to avoid the hit, Yuma extended her arms as if a bird of prey in flight. With masterful agility, she danced to Michael's side and struck him at his pressure points. The professor was stunned – paralyzed by the calculated blows. Yuma snatched his throat, hurling the man to the floor upon his back. The rosary tumbled out of his pocket as he fell.

"The fuck-" Michael wheezed, the air knocked out of his lungs. His eyes were wide, staring at the tent's ceiling in excruciating pain. "The fuck did you…bring me here for? To kick my ass?" His torso was throbbing, and he felt the bruised print of Yuma's hand on his neck.

"You must learn to defend yourself, Professor." Yuma coolly replied as she buttoned her jacket. "Otherwise, this country will eat you alive." She slid her feet into her boots, grinning as she bound the laces. "You'll report here every other night for training in martial arts. Understood?"

The professor coughed. "Why?" he moaned, still feeling the physical and mental aches of his defeat.

"Because you need instruction, and I need a punching bag." Yuma donned an arctic coat and gloves. "Now get back to work." she muttered. "I'm not paying you to lay on the floor." The Lieutenant General lifted the tent's flap, stepping into the chill of the Himalayan storms.

Michael, still partially immobilized, scrambled for his rosary. "That…bitch…" he breathed before closing his eyes for a prayer.


End file.
